


High

by ChasingTheQuill



Category: Moonlight (2016)
Genre: Black Romance, Canon Queer Character of Color, Coming of Age, M/M, One Shot, POV Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 20:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10316795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingTheQuill/pseuds/ChasingTheQuill
Summary: “What you got to be sorry for?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Writing one-shots is proving to be a workable coping mechanism, given the state of my brain after watching this film.  
> Thank you for reading. :)

 

A fire erupts in the pit of my belly and a thorny honey blossom sprouts from the spot on my lips where his kiss falls.  His tongue teases my bottom lip, and his breath fans the heat growing in my face. 

Ocean waves whistle and crash into themselves, oblivious.  A restless wind whisks up bits of sand and drops them at our feet.  The earth tilts on its axis, and all I hear is my own breaking, choked out voice echoing off his skin.  His fingers pull, tease and drag me out from behind my own eyelids.  The bloom he has planted on my lips roots itself into my flesh and winds down my throat with an eager vengeance.  

 _“What you got to be sorry for?”_ He is looking through me, answers at the ready; yet, he searches for questions beneath my skin.  I am holding my breath, waiting for the look of realization and revulsion to dawn on his face.  Instead, his eyes sparkle in the night light, and my gaze tangles with his.

He walks away and leaves me sitting there in the company of the night breeze.  I don’t know how much time passes before I make my way down the winding, sandy path away from the beach.  A relentless haze presses steadily against me, slowly but surely overtaking me. 

 _High_.  I am high. High off this light, whispering wind.  High off that blunt.  High off Kevin. 

I am also busy forgetting.  Forgetting to count each and every step home.  Forgetting the look on Mama’s face when I turn my key in the door.  Forgetting to unravel this fleck of hope before it settles in too deep.  I am busy with this wildfire swelling and searing me up inside.  Almost too busy to see him leaning up against his car parked down by the side of the road.  His eyes are wide and fixed on me.  He clutches his answers close to his chest as he stands there rooted in place, waiting.  Waiting on me.


End file.
